Enough
by Sydney Andrews
Summary: TrinNeo Oneshot. Meant to take place sometime during MI


* * *

_**enough**_

The ship is cold and miserable, and he cannot imagine how these people endure it. The harshness of it, the way sound hollowly echoes off the steel and the water runs hot or cold, never tepid, never comfortable. And the machinery of the hovercraft screeches intermittently in the night, a ghostly screaming sound that nobody else seems to notice; they've grown used to it.

Neo looks out the windshield, the only window to the outside world, running a hand over his nearly bald head, stopping as the metal plug scrapes against his soft, sensitive skin. And he looks at them on his arms, the metal implants riddling his body, and is disgusted, or shamed, he doesn't know which. They'd fed from him. They'd raped his mind and enslaved his body. They'd _made_ him, these Machines.

There is laughter from below, and it sounds foreign and strange. The crew may be playing cards in the core, or drinking in the mess hall, but Neo isn't the least inclined to join them. They're a family, the bond between them is obvious, but even their intimacy is abrasive. This is a military vessel, and they're soldiers, and though they'd take bullets for one other without hesitation, there is no place for impertinent sentiment here. And when Neo enters the room, their conversation will abruptly stop; a change in subject is usually necessary. He doesn't blame them after what Morpheus has predicted. They don't know what to say. And neither does he.

And then she's there. Trinity, the first officer with quiet, sure steps enters the cockpit. If she's surprised to see him she doesn't show it, greeting him without a sound, just a nod and a brief smile. She's graceful and tiny, and much smaller here than when he'd met her in the Matrix. Delicate, and almost frail, physically. But just as mysterious, because he can never tell what is going on beneath her calm, focused surface.

She is always working at something, loyal to duty and responsibility like a religion. Trinity is careful, precise, and solitary. But never dismissive. If he asks her what she's doing, which he does from time to time in an attempt to acquaint himself with his surroundings, she will stop and explain the mundane task in detail, with unfaltering patience. Not superior, not condescending, just matter-of-fact and professional, a disposition of the competent and self assured. It inspires respect and confidence, and the crew responds to her in kind. She's the one people trust around here.

Trinity sits in the pilot's seat and takes note of some sensor readings. "Beautiful night," she comments. And he can't tell if she's joking.

"Is it?"

"Hm-hum. No sentinels."

They have been detected almost every day for the past week, and had to blow the EMP twice. It's like walking on glass. Shards of reality. Trinity doesn't seem nervous as she turns to look at him. "Don't worry," she says, as if reading his mind. "We'll be alright."

There is such certainty in her voice, he almost believes her. Trinity has been out here ten years, Apoch had told him, which is longer than most people last in the field. She's sort of a legend, Mouse had chimed in. Trinity has more commendations than all of them combined, and a service record of outrunning and outwitting more agents than almost anyone in the fleet. So it is only a matter of time before they give her a ship of her own. Damn good fighter. Sexy as hell, too, isn't she?

"Shut up," Switch had snapped. "Give the poor guy a break."

"I'm just making sure Neo is getting in touch with his humanity," said the young man who looked like his name. He'd leaned his murine face across the table and cupped his hand around his mouth as if to tell him a secret. "Every new guy gets a crush on Trin. Some of the girls, too. Psychologically, they call it transference. On this ship, we call it tradition."

"Which is ironic, because they have a better chance seducing Morpheus," observed Apoch. "Seriously. Trinity is the type who gets off kicking the shit out of the Machines. Nothing else does it for her."

"In that case she's horny as hell," Switch deadpanned, and they all laughed in agreement, raising their mugs and toasting Trinity's insatiable sex drive. Neo was bewildered, and would have found this display offensive if it weren't evident that the lewd comments were intended to be highly complimentary. She was in the club. She was one of them.

Looking at her now, as she brushes an errant strand of hair from her face and enters the parameters for another scan of the surrounding sewers, Neo decides that this isn't entirely true. Trinity is remote, standing out as the one who is detached by choice, content to be in her own company. And he's comfortable around her, whereas he isn't with the others.

Her cool tranquility is the only thing safe about this world, and her dainty, wiry figure is the only thing beautiful to look at. He likes to look at her. And perhaps he has joined the ranks of the other nameless, newly liberated men who have fallen under her spell. Neo feels foolish for his apparent lack of originality, but it doesn't stop him from secretly taking joy in her presence. It isn't often they are alone, and Neo doesn't want her to go.

But her task is brief and she is too efficient to remain where she isn't needed, and soon she is shutting down the computer and rising to leave. She meets his eyes and smiles briefly again. "It's all clear. Nothing to worry about."

"Thank you," Neo hears himself say suddenly.

"For what?"

She honestly has no idea what she is to him. "Just… for you," he says, the words stumbling from his mouth awkwardly. He isn't good with words. "For being so nice to me, I mean. I know I'm not much help around here."

Her eyes remain locked with his. Her voice is soft as she says with absolute confidence, "You'll learn. As I did."

Five syllables and he adores her. It is impossible not to.

Neo doesn't say a word, and she doesn't linger, taking her leave promptly and without ceremony. And he misses her acutely, in a way that he's never missed anyone. He has never known someone as unassuming as Trinity, as unconcerned with praise or personal gain. She just wants to keep them all alive, and works her ass off doing it, having no time for anything unimportant. But she has time for him, and what's more, she has confidence in him. But it is nothing like the faith Morpheus blindly invests in some mystifying prophecy. She never speaks about saving the world, and she doesn't look at him with expectation or awe. He'll learn. Like her. Small steps, Neo. You can do it. And that's it. She's sure, and now so is he.

He looks out at the ugly pipes and wires of the sewer walls, and this is the real world. All he'd ever see out this window would be frigid, unforgiving metal, and the faceless sentinels that were sent to kill them without mercy. Trinity had done it for ten years. He could hardly stand it for ten minutes.

The thought of her is the only thing that keeps him from falling into a million pieces as he runs his fingers over the freezing windshield and whispers her name like a prayer, _Trinity_.

That night Neo sits awake, but for the first time it isn't because he's worried. It's because of her. It's because he finally feels something other than fear and indecision, and if he falls asleep he'll be wasting it, this euphoric stirring in his heart. It's the first gift the real world has given him, delivered by a temperate angel with eyes like liquid orbs of Truth. It was as if someone had preserved a sample of the sky before the apocalypse, and had wisely entrusted her with the only surviving drops of that perfect, pure blue.

He will never see the sky, but she is enough.

* * *

_**hguone**_

She is surprised to find him in the cockpit. It isn't anywhere he'd normally be, though when she sees him Trinity instantly knows why he came here. He wanted to look outside. It is not unusual. She often comes here for the same reason, even though there is never anything remarkable to see. If fact, it's damn depressing. But it's a Matrix-borne instinct that is difficult to break, to look for a window. To miss the sky.

Neo runs a hand over his head and then sighs, turning his arm over to look at the underside. The brown eyes turn dark as he studies the mark of the Machine. The metallic stain of slavery. His anguish is evident and it affects her severely, much more than it should, because she's seen it countless times before. He's struggling with the perversion of what's been done to him, and though the implants are barely skin deep (they're intravenous taps, in fact), the metal feels like it is embedded into his bones, into his core. And he's disgusted by it.

His suffering is hers as well; it always has been. She feels for him as if for the first time, as if nothing has ever touched her before, and perhaps this is not far from the truth. Nobody has ever moved her as he does, and Neo accomplishes it without effort or cunning, slicing her deeper than the physical, into the virgin waters of her secret soul. Every prick, pang, twinge and ache is a pluck at the strings of her heart. Trinity marvels at him. He must have some magic about him to take her so effortlessly.

And she drinks in his quiet strength, the broad shoulders and sharp features, tense with concentration and worry. His body is beautiful, even here in the unflattering lights and shapeless, threadbare clothing. He stands with a humble dignity, and looks at her with the questioning innocence of a truly pure heart, the kind that doesn't survive in the real world, and she has never known anyone like him before. The crew doesn't see it, and every day Trinity fears that she is just imagining his potential, but as she watches him in the sparring arena, his code dances on the screen, and she knows. He fights with his heart. And that is the part of him that she trusts implicitly.

"_You won't have much time," the Oracle had warned her. "He's going to die, Trinity. And I'm sorry about that, I truly am. But a love like that, like the love you'll have with him, honey, it isn't meant to last." _

She shudders, and behind her marble face and impregnable sapphire eyes, Trinity is breaking into a million pieces. And she is made not to break; she is built to weather the storm of the real without flinching, to kill without mercy, and to die without regrets. Her only fear is the realization of that prophecy. And now she battles what she most adores, which is sinful and cowardly, but she cherishes his life above her honor. She doesn't want it to be true, and her only defense is an indifference she can never truly feel. The world asks of her the only thing she cannot give.

He sees none of her turmoil, and she is glad for this small mercy as she takes a seat in the pilot's seat and skims the sensor data of their latest sweep. He is still looking outside and she follows his gaze, and despite herself she wants to hear his voice.

And so she begins, "Beautiful night." And she is being satirical.

"Is it?"

"Hm-hum. No sentinels."

It has been a rough week, and his anxiety is apparent. She gives him everything she can. But she isn't good with words. She prefers action, but on a night such as this in the damp chill of the sewers, the stillness forces the syllables from her mouth.

"Don't worry," she says softly. "We'll be alright."

Just hold on a little longer. That's what we do here. We live one day at a time, and tomorrow is a hope, not a certainty. Be safe with me right now, Neo. And he seems to relax, which allows her to continue with her work with some peace in her soul, letting them fall into a comfortable silence. She savors these isolated islands of solitude with him, and enjoys his company when she can escape her own daemons for a moment. It doesn't happen often.

She wants to take him from this place. To Zion, show him the glittering underground city, and have him be free of the cold, dangerous sewers. But Morpheus will not dock the ship until he has taken Neo to see the Oracle, and he won't do that until Neo is ready. Jacking new recruits into the Matrix is always a risk, and Trinity doesn't like to do it all, not until they've had at least a few months of training behind them. So many new ones die in there. They've lost a few this year already. And Neo has been out only three weeks.

Trinity's sense of responsibility for her new recruits runs deep. Perhaps much deeper than any of her peers realize, given how stoic she often appears, always calculating, logical, and cold. But the truth is, she ahs been out here for a very long time, and the years have hardened her on the outside, while softening her immeasurably on the inside. Her concern for the crew is an outlet for her natural female compulsion to protect, and is perhaps at times nearly maternal, when they unplug a child or young adolescent. If she is cold, it is because that's the most efficient way to do her job. If she is a ruthless, unfeeling assassin, it's to save their lives. As a First Officer, it's the best she can give to them. As a woman, it is the least she can give to Neo.

He is the first man who has inspired her to think beyond the basal priority of assuring his safety, beyond steering him from sentinels and shielding him from agents. She wants to deliver him from his loneliness, she wants to make him smile, to make him laugh, and to teach him about all that is good in life. And this makes her scoff. As if she knows anything about being happy.

Being inherently self-aware, she knows how icy she is, and has been told in no uncertain terms that she is distant, intimidating, and sometimes quite frightening to the new crew members, so much so that many of them would rather spar with Morpheus than sit in the mess hall with her for ten minutes. It has never bothered her before, but now that Trinity glances at Neo's rather uncertain expression over her shoulder, Trinity feels a pang of self reproach. She cannot bear to be unfeeling towards him, and so this is what causes her to say, in the most reassuring tone she can muster, "It's all clear. Nothing to worry about."

She almost doesn't believe it when he says, "Thank you." It is the sound of pure gratitude, though she cannot imagine she merited it at all.

"For what?" is the only things she can say.

"Just… for you. For being so nice to me, I mean. I know I'm not much help around here."

She can only stare at him, her heart pounding in her throat. His appreciation touches her more deeply than anything had before, and it is all she can do not to cry as she replies simply, You'll learn. As I did."

And she means it. He's good. He's damn good, no matter what unimaginable expectations Morpheus has laid out before him. It's an inexplicable trust, but she accepts it fully, she always has. And this is how she leaves him, knowing that he would probably prefer his solitude, having so much to think about, so much on his shoulders. But she lets herself smile on her way out, hoping that it is as warm as she intends it, and that he understands that no matter what, weather he returns her affection or not, she will always be here for him. Her warrior's heart has decided to give him this devotion.

She sighs.

If only, Trinity thinks ruefully, that were enough.

* * *

_**One shot. :) Please R&R**_

**_-Syd_**


End file.
